


A Part

by quamquam20



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetic, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quamquam20/pseuds/quamquam20
Summary: Rey and Kylo get off at the same time. They just don't know it.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 68





	A Part

He's a gasping thing, falling apart between his sheets. The dark room knows how common this scene is, his fist around his cock while he bites her short name off.

So close but he can't quite get there. Frustrated, angry. Blocked. That's part of it.

* * *

She's a sly one, a finger slip and no other motion in a sleeping-packed bunkroom. Never had to hide it before.

Never had to do it so much.

Never pictured another person so completely. The density of his mind, the torsion of his arm. The weight of his names between her teeth.

* * *

He's a bridge—a roiling, quaking link that can't do anything but try to hold them together with all of his strength, even while he crumbles.

* * *

She's listening to the famished droning of how he calls to her. He gives it so many shots and she snuffs them all out.

Flying on the high of kicking him away, she presses her fingers hard for him.

* * *

He's a caged heart, all beating and incremental dying, every move one closer to a shoreless ocean. He covers his mouth, pinches his nose, because he likes to struggle at the end. Like he's giving it to her instead.

* * *

She's sinking fast, dropping into the memorized melt of his eyes and the rasp of his skin. She's there when she thinks of him where he shouldn't be, masked and carrying. Swallows the cry, stills the hip-surging release.

* * *

He's a lone tremor, a pitching spilling and he lets it hit anywhere. Never relief. Just hot-blooded filth and a distortion and another night to sleep.

* * *

They are staring. It will be the only time they say nothing, the once when they let it glue them together without trying to take anything. They pick up the scent, see the weakness and the recent unloaded surrender.

They are pipes, full to bursting with the mindless flow that nobody else can see. Untuned instruments that can't hear the song.

Yet.

Because she's the dust and he's the stars. He's the ground and she's the root, loosening and feeding.


End file.
